


(Won't) Last Forever

by dattumblrgal



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Divorce, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Reconciliation, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 04:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11889975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dattumblrgal/pseuds/dattumblrgal
Summary: Harry will never think of their marriage as a mistake. How could he? It was five blissful years and one full of nothing but fighting and the occasional fucking, because despite hating each other, there was love somewhere deep inside of all that mess. Perhaps it’s still there, hidden under layers and layers of resentment, waiting to be uncovered again.OR: Harry and Zayn are about to get divorced and they may have started to question that decision.





	(Won't) Last Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I personally know nothing about art galleries, art scouting and mortgages. Just letting you all know that there may be a lot of inaccuracies about these things.
> 
> A huge thank you to Ecem (@4zarry on Tumblr) who made the beautiful cover for this story. Thank you, angel.  
> Title is taken from Love Like This by Kodaline. (None of the story is based on the lyrics, I just liked the song lol.)

                                                                         

 

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            They were too young. They were too young to get married and too young to get divorced. Was it a mistake? Should they regret it? Was getting married at twenty-two, fresh out of college and eager to dive into the _real world,_ the biggest misstep of their adult lives?

            It didn’t feel like it for quite a long time. They got married young, so? People have babies when they’re teenagers, matrimony is way easier and they weren’t teens anymore. When two people love each other _so very much_ , the next step is marriage, right? Then comes the house and the mortgage, kids and an ugly car. A dog or two, kid’s parties, friends’ weddings and baby showers. Then it’s graduation parties and your kids’ weddings, grandchildren and death? Is that how it goes?

            Harry will never think of their marriage as a mistake. How could he? It was five blissful years and one full of nothing but fighting and the occasional fucking, because despite hating each other, there was love somewhere deep inside of all that mess. Perhaps it’s still there, hidden under layers and layers of resentment, waiting to be uncovered again.

            “Do you regret it?” Harry asks Zayn after what seemed like hours of silence. Maybe it was.

            They’re sitting on the dark hardwood floors of their living room. Well, if you can still call it _theirs_. Furniture gone, some boxes spewed around the house, it’s no longer the place they called home for five years. So, here they are, sitting on the ground in their living room, the big 25x35 black and white photograph from their wedding, back when they thought nothing could come between them, staring at them from above the fireplace. Neither of them had the heart or courage to take it down and pack with the rest of their things. Maybe it’ll stay here until the realtor comes, takes it down and throws it out. Perhaps it won’t be moved until the house is sold. Possibly to some other young couple just like they were six years ago, happy and excited to spend the rest of their lives together. The photo will be a warning sign for them – ‘ _Don’t think you’ll stay this happy forever. Look at us, we were so in love and now we’re divorced. We didn’t even bother to take a photo from our wedding from this place. Enjoy this house while you can.’_

            A bottle of red wine and two chipped mugs they wanted to throw out are between them. How fitting – they celebrated moving into this house with a bottle of red wine and it’s the same as they’re leaving it now. Except the first time they were body on body, kissing all evening on the grey carpet in front of the fireplace before they moved to their bedroom, bed completely bare save for a blanket they bought on the way here, windows lacking curtains as well. Now they’re sitting maybe six feet apart and they’re terrified their hands are gonna touch when reaching for the wine.

            “No,” Zayn says simply, a mug almost on his lips, staring at the photo above the fireplace. Harry wonders if he’s thinking about the same things – how happy they were, did they waste the time or not, is it truly over?

            “Remember when we got engaged?” Harry asks quietly. The words almost echo in the spacious room, but that’s probably just Harry’s imagination. He expected Zayn to throw him a dirty look and dismiss the question with a ‘ _It’s useless to talk about the good times, Harry.’_ , but instead he chuckles and the smile stays on his face while he keeps gazing at their wedding photo. Harry feels a pang in his heart. Zayn hasn’t smiled at him in months. Now it’s meant for a picture, a version of Harry he loved. It’s still enough, still better than nothing.

            “It was a good night,” Zayn almost whispers into his wine.

            “It was,” Harry nods, “I was so scared in the morning that you were joking. You were gone and I thought it was the end of our whole relationship.”

            “Yeah,” Zayn laughs, not helping Harry’s heartache at all, “and then I showed up with lunch from that Japanese place and an engagement ring.”

            _It’s May, the night a very warm one for New York City. 2AM, they are in bed in their Harlem apartment, naked and slightly tipsy from the night out. Since they’re done with all finals and cap stones, a celebration was more than fit. They just have to wait for graduation, walk across the stage, get their diplomas and then college will officially be a closed chapter of their lives._

_“What is gonna happen after college? With us I mean,” Harry mumbles into Zayn’s chest where he’s laying his head. He’s on his stomach, a leg shifted between Zayn’s. Their chests are touching and Zayn has his arms around Harry. This may be Harry’s most favourite thing to do – absolutely nothing with Zayn._

_“Well, I’m not planning on breaking up with you. Are you?” Zayn asks him, running a finger along Harry’s spine. Harry just shakes his head, eyes set on Zayn’s face, silently admiring how sharp his cheekbones look illuminated only by the streetlights from outside._

_“We should get married. It’s like we already are. Look at us, we live together, we’ve been dating since freshman year. What would change? Only out apartment and jobs. We’ll just do it all with wedding bands on our fingers. What do you think, baby?” Harry lets out a surprised chuckle. He didn’t think that Zayn would want to get married when they’re thirty. Now they’re twenty-two and he’s the one suggesting it._

_“Are you serious?” Harry whispers. Maybe Zayn is drunker than he seems._

_“I am completely serious. Will you marry me? I think there should be like a…love declaration or something. So, here it goes. I love you more than I thought I could ever love someone. You complete me and I can’t imagine my life without you. So now, I want to start my proper adult life with you as my husband. What do you say, baby?” Harry starts crying then, a smile on his face as he crawls up Zayn’s body and kisses him. He’s so happy, he’s ecstatic and this moment feels better than getting into Columbia. How could a school ever compare to the love of his life?_

_“Yes, yes, yes,” they both laugh into each other’s mouths, faces still so close together their lips are touching a little, “I love you so much. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” Zayn kisses him again, hands holding his hips gently._

_“Do you want a summer wedding or a fall wedding? Because I refuse to get married in winter and there’s no way in hell I’m waiting till next spring,” Zayn laughs under him, bringing his hand up to hold Harry’s cheek and shaking his head with a soft smile on his lips._

_“Whatever you want. I don’t care. We could get married tomorrow in jeans and it’d be happy, because it’d be with you,” Harry decides not to speak with words anymore and instead uses his mouth for something more useful like kissing._

_They don’t talk anymore, not about the engagement at least and they make love for hours. The euphoria shifted to love which changed to desire, creating something amazing. They couldn’t keep their hands off of each other or wash away the grins off their faces. Eventually, they managed to fall asleep as sun was rising above the silent streets of Manhattan, well as silent as they can get._

_Harry woke up alone and almost got a panic attack. Every bit of paranoia that was occupying his mind started screaming at him that Zayn left him after he realized what he asked last night. He truly almost called his mom crying when he noticed that Zayn left his phone on the bedside table, which meant he probably just ran out to get breakfast or cigarettes._

_His poor nervous system lives through another shock when Zayn finally comes back with lunch from Harry’s favourite Japanese place and not only that, but with a Cartier ring as well._

_It wasn’t as romantic as last night, there was no kneeling on one knee, but it was such a Zayn thing to do. He simply handed Harry the bag with food, offhandedly saying “Check if it’s what you like.”. Harry didn’t even think about it twice and in the paper bag, he found a red Cartier box on top of all the Japanese food. He gasped, as would everyone presented with a ring like that, took it out of the bag and settled the take out on the dining table. Barely even breathing, he opened it and found a Love ring inside. He breathed out a small “Oh my god” before turning to Zayn, who was staring at the floor with a hint of mischievous grin on his lips._

_“Babe? What is this?” Harry asks, completely dumbfounded. Zayn just shrugs and walks to Harry._

_“An engagement ring? You know, after last night, it’s sort of expected. Well, if your answer is still yes.”_

_“Of course, it’s still yes. But how?”_

_“I may have sold a few paintings earlier this week I haven’t told you about yet.”_

_“What? Baby, that’s so amazing!” Harry throws himself on Zayn, pulling him into one of his famous octopus hugs._

_“Yeah, I guess. But we’ll talk about that later. How do you like the ring?” Harry couldn’t forget about the very important and very expensive piece of jewellery in his hand. He extracts his arms from Zayn and stares at the ring sitting in the box he’s holding._

_“It’s so beautiful. I adore it, just like I adore you.”_

_“Can I?” Zayn points at box in Harry’s hand. Harry nods enthusiastically and lets Zayn put the silver band on his left ring finger. It fits perfectly._

            “God, I was so happy that day,” Harry sighs and sips at his wine. That was before. Before the fighting, before the weeks without each other, before the coldness between them. They were twenty-two and thought everything will be just great if they stay together and be in love. But marriage can’t survive only on love, can it?

            “Me too. I actually believed we’d be together for the rest of our lives,” Zayn mutters bitterly. He shakes his head as if at himself and his foolishness.

            “I still don’t know how we managed to plan the wedding so fast,” Harry changes the topic quickly. He doesn’t need to recount why their marriage fell apart once again. They did it enough times with a marriage counsellor and with each other.

            The wedding _was_ planned very quickly. In May, they managed to get the perfect venue for August, thanks to a wedding getting cancelled. Some say it’s an impossible feat, but they got lucky while someone got unlucky. Maybe it’s catching up to them now.

            It was actually perfect. The ceremony and the reception took place in a garden of one hip Brooklyn hotel. There were fairy lights and light bulbs strung everywhere, beautiful flowers as centrepieces on round tables with white tablecloths and the whole place looked magical, like a piece of a forest where fairies live. They didn’t have many people there, maybe around thirty, just the closest family and friends. It wasn’t supposed to be a spectacle for their extended family and acquaintances, it was for the two of them and only for them. They could’ve fucked off to Vegas or Hawaii and get hitched without anyone knowing, but instead chose to share that moment with people that mattered to them the most.

            Harry smiles at the memory of it. There was not a single thing that went wrong that day. The weather was amazing, no one got food poisoning and their suits didn’t get ruined by any beverage or food. Harry felt like he was on top of the world, that nothing could be better than that, that they’ll never be happier. And maybe they weren’t.

            “Do you remember what you said to me the morning of our wedding?” Harry asks, interrupting the silence that was created after Zayn ignored Harry’s comment about wedding planning.

            Zayn turns to look at him, an unreadable expression on his face. God, Harry truly doesn’t know his husband anymore. Just a year ago, he could read Zayn like a book. Every one of his moods, emotions and facial expressions were catalogued in Harry’s brain, everything was simple and organized. Now he’s looking at the man he’s known for almost ten years and feels like he’s looking at a stranger.

            “I hope I’ll wake up with you like this until the day I die. And I don’t need to hope because I know this for sure – I’ll love you forever,” Zayn answers, no sign of emotion on his face. Harry feels his throat choking up, a warning that if he doesn’t control it, he’ll start to cry in a few seconds. The fact that Zayn remembers the words, that little thing alone is enough to make Harry want to scream at the top of his lungs – that they still have hope, this doesn’t have to be over, they still have a chance.

            “Sometimes I just wish we could go back to the night we met,” Harry whispers instead.

            _It was the first party of the year of some frat house Harry’s roommate was in, so of course he was obliged to go. Harry, a freshman journalism student who barely knows anyone here, would never willingly go to a party full of jocks. Well, a lot of them are hot so that’s a bonus. Unfortunately, a lot of them are also straight. But one should never redeem a situation like this worthless unless one sees the situation first-hand._

_And that’s how Harry finds himself standing in the corner of a living room, nursing a red plastic cup of disgusting beer, listening to a drunk girl rant about her cheating boyfriend. The night is getting worse and worse by every second he’s at the party. The guys are machos and straight, girls are so not into him because they came there for “athletes” and not “floppy haired hipsters”. Harry makes a vow to himself to never attend a frat party again._

_And that’s when they lock eyes. Harry is just scanning the room, skipping over guys in barely there muscle tops and snapbacks with girls hanging off their arms. The owner of those beautiful whiskey eyes Harry is staring into is the only dude here who isn’t way over 6 feet tall with puffed out muscles. He’s wearing a leather jacket and similarly to Harry, is leaning against a wall with that shitty beer in his hand._

_Harry doesn’t even think about it, says a quick sorry to the girl and makes a bee line for the beautiful hot stranger. He wrestles his way through the party and finds himself standing in front of him. The guy smirks and takes a sip of his beer. The grimace he makes clearly describes the taste of it._

_“You were staring at me,” Harry states instead of saying hello or introducing himself._

_“Yeah, I was. You’re the only other guy here who’s not wearing the typical jock uniform, so I thought I might ogle you and you’d notice so we could chat or something,” the stranger has a very beautiful smile and Harry’s mesmerised._

_“I’m Harry,” Harry sticks out his hand to shake the stranger’s._

_“Zayn,” he accepts the hand and Harry already loves how Zayn’s skin feels on his own. If he can get a hook up out of this, he’ll literally be the happiest person in New York._

_“Do you want to get out of here? I wanted to get drunk, but the booze is shit so we can might as well leave this frat hole,” Zayn chuckles. With that beautiful face of his, he could ask Harry to hide a dead body right now and Harry’s about 98% sure he’d do it without asking any questions._

_“Sure. And where is it you wanna go?” Harry smirks. He need to start charming the fuck out of Zayn if he wants to get any tonight. Leaving together is a good sign though. Harry innocently fiddles with the buttons on his shirt. If his hand leaves the shirt more unbuttoned and maybe flashing his right nipple a bit, Harry absolutely doesn’t notice it._

_“There’s a gallery nearby that’s open all night this weekend and there may be champagne. What do you say?” Zayn asks it with a soft smile and Harry’s dumbfounded. He half expected to be asked to go back to Zayn’s place or another party, but he never saw this coming. Truth be told, it only makes him more intrigued with Zayn. This beautiful stranger who stared at Harry from across a room with an obscene look, as if he wanted to bend Harry over the beer pong table and fuck him right there, is now asking him to go to a gallery in the middle of the night. Harry thinks he’s in love already._

_“Sure, let’s go,” Harry smiles and leaves his cup on a shelf next to him. Zayn does the same and grabs Harry’s hand without hesitation. They weave their way through drunk people and making out couples until they’re in the hallway. Running quickly down the stairs, their hands not letting go, they find themselves out in the brisk October air. Zayn’s hot hand in his is an amazing source of heat for this fall weather._

_“You go to Columbia?” Zayn asks him after they walk for about half a block._

_“Yeah. Journalism. You?”_

_“Art. With a business minor, because otherwise my parents wouldn’t pay the tuition,” Zayn laughs._

_“A lovely combo,” Harry mutters. An artist, that’s why the gallery._

_“Well, what can I do? I don’t mind it that much. Besides, it’s smart. My art might as well fail to succeed and then at least I won’t end up homeless. What about you? What do you wanna do?” Zayn inquiries. Harry doesn’t know how to answer. What does he wanna do? He doesn’t really know. Write? Is that what you do with a journalism degree?_

_“Who knows? I’m only a freshman, I can figure it out I guess,” Harry knows Zayn for less than half an hour and yet, here he is, making Harry question his purpose in life._

_“That’s fair,” Zayn says and nods softly. He doesn’t ask Harry any more questions, just holds his hand tightly, occasionally running his thumb over Harry’s knuckles._

_Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself. There’s just such a calm vibe around Zayn and the way he’s so comfortable with Harry…it’s captivating and Harry can’t get enough. He really wants to kiss Zayn, but he’s afraid it’d ruin the mood. In the best-case scenario, the kiss would get heated and they’d end up in someone’s bed naked. But as he thinks about it now, Harry would love to see the gallery. He hasn’t had much time to explore New York since he moved here. Looking at art with a cute boy at midnight is something Harry may never experience again._

_“We’re here,” Zayn says when they stop in front of a small gallery named ’21+Renaissance’. It’s not lit up too brightly, the light coming from the floor length windows a muted yellow. Zayn holds the door open for Harry and he comes inside. There’s not many people checking out the art, maybe fifteen or so. But there is champagne, though._

_The walls are bare bricks and there are strings of lightbulbs all around the room, on the walls and the ceiling, the big fluorescent lights over their heads turned off. Most of the artwork are photos and a few metal sculptures. Harry’s in love with it all._

_There’s a hand on his lower back and Harry turns his head to find Zayn smiling at him._

_“C’mon, I wanna show you something,” he says softly, grabs Harry’s hand again and leads him to the other room of the gallery. It looks almost identical except it displays only paintings. On one wall, there are three huge ones, each almost as tall as a person and nearly as wide as it’s tall. Those are the ones that catch Harry’s eye immediately. On the far left, it’s a painting of a path in a forest, all muted greens and grey. In the middle is a lake, surrounded by trees again, the same greens and greys. The last painting is presumably New York, a view of the skyscrapers painted in greys and blues. They’re probably oil paintings, not that Harry is an expert._

_“These are breath-taking,” Harry says after a moment._

_“You think so?” Zayn asks. He was standing next Harry to the whole time without a word, without touching him. His presence was comforting, though._

_“Yeah, I love them. Are they by some hot-shot artist or something? That’s why you wanted to come here?” Zayn starts laughing, leaving Harry confused._

_“Well, I personally would never describe myself as ‘hot-shot artist’,” he says after he stops laughing. It takes Harry’s slightly tipsy brain a moment to understand what’s going on._

_“Wait, you painted these?” Harry squawks. Zayn shushes him, putting a finger on his lips. Harry just stares at him in slight shock and admiration._

_“Not so loud, there are people here. I don’t want them to come here asking a million questions. I was already here a few days ago at the official opening.”_

_“Why’d you wanna keep it secret?” Harry asks. All that beauty and Zayn doesn’t want people to know?_

_“It’s not a secret, babe. My name’s right there by the painting along with their names. I just hate like…explaining my art and talking about it to random people. Plus, I’m a bit drunk so I don’t feel like making an idiot out of myself.”_

_“You’re talking to me,” Harry chuckles. Zayn gives him a small smile before grabbing Harry’s hand again and taking him to the champagne._

_“I’ve already made an idiot of myself when I was staring at you like a serial killer. And by bringing you here like this,” Zayn says, still with a smile on his lips, as he hands Harry a glass of champagne._

_“Then why did you?” Harry challenges. Zayn smirks at him from behind his glass._

_“Well, the staring – you’re very pretty. And the gallery, hm. I wanted an opinion of a stranger that didn’t know those paintings were mine. Because I’ve never really gotten it, you know? Like, my teachers and people who have seen them knew they were talking to the person who made them. And once these were showed here at the opening, people knew I was the artists because of the pamphlet they got at the door. And I haven’t been here since. So, yeah. I hope you don’t mind,” Zayn looking down into his champagne, and it’s quite dark so he can’t really see but Harry swears Zayn’s blushing. Harry sets his glass down and gently takes Zayn’s face in his hands. Zayn looks up at him with those beautiful eyes, that Harry swears sparkle under the right light and his knees almost buckle._

_“I’m glad you showed me. This is way better than going to another frat party or something. I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” Zayn just beams at Harry and nods with the beautiful smile writing itself into Harry’s memory and probably heart as well._

_Soon their lips collide. It’s very soft at first, just an experimental touch of lips on lips before they start to make some movement with them. Then it’s tongue and teeth and the sexual attraction that was buzzing between them like electricity since their hands first touched. They kiss and kiss and kiss, Harry’s hands still cupping Zayn’s face while Zayn snakes his arms around Harry’s waist. Their moment is interrupted by someone clearing their throat, undoubtedly with the intention to stop them. They part with a laugh, but then their hands find their way together right away._

_They walk around the gallery for a bit longer, but Harry finds himself staring at Zayn more than the artwork. Zayn catches him a few times and they break into muffled giggles. When they’re leaving the gallery, it’s hand in hand again._

_“You know,” Harry says when they’re outside on the sidewalk, “it’s like you’re art making art. Isn’t that weird?” Zayn starts laughing again, head thrown back and eyes closed. Harry already loves the sound and wants to hear it every single day of his life._

_“You’re terrible,” Zayn says after a moment, laughter still lighting up his eyes. Harry takes it as a win._

_Understandably, they end up in Zayn’s apartment he shares with a friend. It wasn’t really a conscious decision. They just kept walking while they talked until they ended up in front of Zayn’s building. Harry didn’t even let Zayn finish when he tried to ask if he wants to come up. He just shut Zayn up with a kiss and whispered into his ear to hurry up with the keys._

_The sex is amazing, a bit awkward as any and every first time with someone is, but they manage and cover it up with more laughter. A round two doesn’t even need to be discussed._

_Harry stays the night and he wakes up with Zayn draped over his back, holding onto him for dear life. It’s lovely, warm, and Harry doesn’t move for half an hour, choosing to enjoying Zayn’s body on his._

_When Harry leaves two hours later, it’s with two more orgasms under his belt, a new phone number in his iPhone and a scheduled date for the evening._

“Would you do anything differently? If we could…I don’t know, travel back in time or meet as strangers again?” Zayn startles Harry with the question.

            Would he? Harry searches his memory for any fatal mistakes either of them made during their time together. Does he regret sleeping with Zayn the night they met? No, not at all. It was perfect. A magical moment that Harry can’t explain even after almost ten years. The instantaneous attraction and passion was something straight out of a book and to this day, Harry cherishes the memory of that night.

            Was it the marriage that fucked everything up? College graduates, painstakingly in love, getting hitched because they were young and thought marriage was just the next step in a relationship without much change. That’s what they thought it was – a paper and two rings that were supposed to just validate their love for other people to see. Then the expectations came. They moved into a three-bedroom house in the suburbs with a big garden meant for a dog and perhaps three children. Moving there was the first step to get ready for a family they were sure they wanted. Every time they went out or to some family event, they were bombarded with questions – _“When are you getting a baby? That big house of yours must be so empty without a little one!” “You don’t even have a dog? Get one, it’s great practice for a baby.” “How long have you been together? You’re both so young! Are you high school sweethearts?”_. It only got worse and worse as more time passed and no baby in sight. Their careers got in the way of everything.

            Maybe those mistakes were small, overlooked. Not celebrating their anniversaries, avoiding each other instead of talking like adults, not saving some time to be young and forget their fucking careers and marriage for once. Perhaps miniscule things drove them apart – forgetting to text each other _good night_ and _good morning_ when they were apart, never having breakfast together, not holding hands when they were walking outside. All of these were things they never failed to do in college and the first five years of their marriage. Before they moved in together, not once have they missed a _good morning/good night_ texts. It didn’t matter if it was finals season or they were drunk off their asses, the text was sent either way. Getting breakfast before class was routine, starting mornings together in cafés or just grabbing something from a bakery on their way became a part of their days shortly after they met. Walking on a street and not holding hands was unimaginable for years. And yet somehow, they got there. Somehow, they no longer did things that were such an important part of their relationship. Somehow, they weren’t the people who fell in love with each other anymore.

            “No, I don’t think so,” Harry answers, looking straight into Zayn’s eyes. It’s been quite some time since they just sat next to each other, _looked_ at each other and didn’t yell or shot daggers with theirs eyes. It’s probably the last time Harry will get to see Zayn like this so he tries to commit this sight into his memory, his heart. He feels like crying again. _We can’t end this, this isn’t right._

            “Why do you think all of this fell apart when we were so happy for years?” Harry asks. The second the words leave his mouth he regrets it. Hearing Zayn say how he fell out of love with Harry isn’t the story he’d like to listen to now. It’s like diving a knife into his own heart.

            “You know why,” Zayn scoffs, no longer looking at Harry, “Dr. Fuller said it each three times we went to his office. Our careers got in the way. Adulthood or whatever.”

            Harry just nods, choosing to stare at his hands instead of trying to catch Zayn’s gaze. The Love ring still sits on his ring finger, accompanied by his wedding band. Zayn has a matching one, not that he wears it anymore. Actually, Harry isn’t sure if he does or doesn’t. He hasn’t looked at Zayn’s left hand properly since he handed Harry a cup of coffee few weeks ago. The ring wasn’t there and they both noticed. Harry’s heart sank down in his chest and Zayn turned away from him, cheeks red with embarrassment. He didn’t say anything about it and the next day, Harry caught a glimpse of the wedding band on Zayn’s finger. Since then he chooses not to face the realization that they’re getting divorced by avoiding Zayn’s better coping mechanisms.

            “I don’t fucking believe it,” Zayn exclaims and takes a sip of his wine, “we were fine for five damn years. Not fine, perfect. Everything was perfect.” Harry doesn’t say anything. His lips are pressed together and he’s doing everything to stop the incoming tears that he can now feel in his eyes.

            “Haz, you know how you went to Europe with me for a month that one time?” Zayn turns to Harry with a small smile, all the bitterness that was previously tainting his words gone. If Harry’s heart jumps in his chest like it did when he was eighteen, he pretends not to notice otherwise his heart might just stop working at once. _I love you, please look at me like that every day till we die._

“’Course, it was when the gallery really got on the map, yeah?” Zayn just nods, still smiling at Harry. It feels like drowning. Drowning in Zayn’s face, the memories and the forgotten love that’s creeping up on them. Harry never wants to get to the surface again.

            “My chief editor was so mad at me, but there was no way in hell I’d be without you for a month,” Harry chuckles, still pushing back tears. They were elated back then. Five years ago, they had just moved into this house and it seemed like everything will only get better. Zayn’s gallery really picked up on sales and he decided to go to Europe for more art. Said it would apparently bring more people (it did). Harry thought it was an amazing idea and urged Zayn to go until he learned that Zayn was supposed to be gone for a month. It’s not a secret half of Harry’s decisions are made impulsively and leaving with Zayn to go art scouting was one of them.

            Lana, the chief editor of _Fad_ , was understandably livid. The only reason why he didn’t lose his job was because he promised to write and photograph a _Europe in a month_ travel diary. It may or may not helped him when Lana left two years later and he ended up being her replacement.

             That amazing June five years ago was probably the best month of Harry’s life. Barcelona, London, Paris, Berlin, Prague, Milano. They felt like teenagers again, running around European cities, looking for interesting indie places Harry could photograph and write about. Cute restaurants with mismatched second-hand furniture, where they ate all kinds of weird vegan food and then went to get fast food after. Small cinemas and theatres, where they saw a silent movie, a French drama they swear was a porno in disguise and intricate musical about star-crossed lovers. Historic buildings tourists don’t know about but are as equally breath-taking as any other well-known are. They kissed at round Parisian corners, held hands while walking through Alexanderplatz and waited for the clockwork in Prague with arms around each other.

            They went to art galleries with local art, visited artists’ ateliers and some exhibitions. Returning back to the States with dozens of art pieces and countless memories didn’t sadden them at all, because they knew that this wasn’t their last time scouting art in Europe.

            Time and time again, together, they flew out to Europe and a few times to South America as well. Never for a month again, usually just for a week, sometimes two. City after city, it was always the same – checking out interesting places for Harry’s magazine and picking out art for Zayn’s gallery. It was a harmony they enjoyed and loved. Being away from home, from their three-bedroom house with a big garden meant for a dog and perhaps three children, they were in college again. Young, restless, always touching – kissing, holding hands, even having their pinkies locked was enough.

            They knew they were probably the luckiest people in New York. In their early twenties, married with a house and amazing careers. A dream that most people never even achieve. They were flying out of the States almost ten times a year and there was nothing that could shatter their happiness. They cherished it, they really did. All of it could dissipate in front of their eyes any moment. It did eventually. Well, not the house and amazing careers. Their happiness did.

            It wasn’t ‘Harry and Zayn against the world’ anymore. They fought, their house once always full of noise – their voices and laugher, soft music coming from a record player, a TV playing a movie or a show, was now immersed in silence after endless shouting and yelling. ‘Harry and Zayn against the world’ easily deviated to ‘Harry and Zayn against each other’.

            Harry started to go out with his old friends, all of them single with not a care in the world. Drinking was a part of it of course and it felt like punishing himself. He didn’t like to get too drunk and yet he found himself falling into a taxi, fucked out of his mind, at least once a week. Zayn hated it. Every time Harry came home like that, Zayn didn’t talk to him for two days. Harry woke up to a water bottle and Aspirin on the bedside table and half the pillows gone. He tried to forget things with each drink – how empty their house feels, how they don’t hold each other when they sleep anymore, how they barely even kiss.

            Harry also drank to forget that Zayn doesn’t love him anymore, to forget that his husband is definitely sleeping with his art scout. He doesn’t have a confirmation, but how dumb does one person need to be to not notice his spouse cheating? Zayn started to fly out on his art trips with her, instead of Harry. It wasn’t that big of a surprise. Who would you choose to go on a lovely trip to Budapest with? Your husband, who tries to force you to stay home and have children, or a twenty-one-year-old lovely girl, who admires you and wants to gain your admiration back? It’s an obvious one.

            Ally, Zayn’s too young art scout, with the shiny tan hair and dazzling smile. Harry curses himself for liking her at first. Zayn chose someone young, not only to charm the sellers and artists but also to give an opportunity to a candidate who’s fresh out of college looking for experience. What a great idea, isn’t it? Harry thought so as well until his marriage started to fall apart.

            It ate away at Harry like acid. His heart first, turning it into a shivered black glop of goo and then the small piece of happiness he had left. The questions he couldn’t stop asking himself were impossible to ignore. What did Zayn do with her? Did they just fuck in hotel rooms, revelling in the sex and nothing more? Or was it emotional as well? Zayn, tired of his husband, taking his new lover to gorgeous places, places he and Harry may have discovered on their previous trips. Maybe they were getting dinner in romantic restaurants and seeing landmarks together, exploring cities hand in hand.

            “The last time we were in Rome, I feel like that’s the last time we said ‘I love you’ and meant it,” Harry says, breaking the silence than fell upon them again and the tears finally fall free.

              _It was July, not even a year and a half earlier. Rome was more beautiful than ever, hot and humid as hell too, but never any less enchanting. The streets were almost completely vacant during the day and nights were warm and crowded. It was even lovelier than during their honeymoon there._

_Zayn’s two paintings were being showed as a part of a portraits exhibitions called “Faces of the World”. It consisted of all kinds of media – paintings, photographs, sculptures and other contemporary art. The people who came up with the idea contacted young artists from all around the world to show their art of people. Portraits, busts, light installations – all of it was there and showed a person in its own way._

_They decided to make the trip not only for the exhibition opening but also make a holiday out of it. It’s been quite some time since they were on a proper holiday, so they just said “Fuck it” and took two weeks off._

_The opening is on Friday and they arrive to Rome on Monday. Their main goal is to be complete and total tourists this time – see all the sights, eat a shitload of pasta and pizza and not do any work at all. Over the years, they’ve been to Rome three times. The first time was their honeymoon, which was spent mostly in their hotel room bed. If they weren’t fucking, they were eating room service or sleeping. Of course, they went out a bit to take some photos to post on Instagram and show at home. Everyone would ask them about their honeymoon and well, they couldn’t really say “Sorry guys, it was pretty uneventful. We were fucking the whole time, so we don’t have any pics. Although, we did see the Colosseum from a taxi window. It was nice.”._

_The other two times were short, 3-day trips and purely for work purposes. Here, they really did see the Colosseum only from a taxi window._

_They sleep off the jet lag on Monday and truly hit the streets on Tuesday. They start with the Colosseum, making their way through most of sights around it before dinner. The day ends for them in a restaurant with an amazing garden with a fountain in the middle of it. They don’t forget to take ‘artsy’ photos of almost everything and spam their Instagrams with disgustingly cute selfies._

_The rest of the week is spent in a similar fashion – sights, lunch, more sights, dinner, sex and sleep. And it’s absolutely perfect. They ignore their work emails and phone calls, leaving that part of their lives in the States where it belongs._

_It’s Friday evening, they’re getting ready in their hotel suite when Harry realizes he has no idea which portraits Zayn borrowed the gallery._

_“Baby?” Harry calls out to the bathroom, where Zayn’s doing his hair._

_“Yeah?”_

_“You haven’t told me which paintings you borrowed the gallery for the exhibiton,” Harry announces instead of asking. He’s standing in front of a mirror, buttoning up his pale blue shirt. It’s crazy hot outside, despite the early evening hours, but he decided to keep his hair down. The whole week, he had it up in a messy bun and he can’t go to an event like that with a bun on his head. Maybe it’s time for a haircut._

_Zayn appears behind him, shitless and deliciously smelling of Gucci, and wraps his arms around Harry’s torso – under the shirt of course. Over the years he’s gotten yelled at by Harry for wrinkling his shirts more times than they can count, so he found a way to do it without messing up Harry’s clothes._

_“No, I haven’t told you, because it’s a secret,” Zayn moves Harry’s hair from his neck and kisses a spot behind his ear. His lips linger there, leaving tiny kisses all over Harry’s neck._

_“If you don’t stop we’ll miss the opening,” Harry meets Zayn’s eyes in the mirror. There’s a smirk on his lips and Zayn doesn’t look like he’s letting Harry go anytime soon._

_“Maybe we can be a bit late,” Zayn mumbles into his neck._

_“No,” Harry says firmly and reluctantly but forcefully removes himself from Zayn’s arms and away from his hungry lips._

_“Babe, c’mon,” Zayn whines and tries to reach for Harry._

_“No. I already have my shirt on. You know how it goes – shirt on, no quickie,” Harry hands Zayn his shirt on a hanger. Zayn takes it, but doesn’t move to put it on. Harry raises his eyebrows and Zayn sighs._

_“We are like an old married couple. You’re rushing me to get dressed so we’re not late and we barely even have sex,” Zayn laments while buttoning up hit shirt. Harry gasps theatrically and puts his hands on his hips._

_“First of all, we are an old married couple. We’ve been married for almost five years, that’s a long ass time. Not being late is expected, especially this time and we had sex this morning,” Zayn starts laughing and Harry joins him. He knows in that moment that he’ll never change this for anything. Even when they will actually be an old married couple, it won’t ever be boring._

_They take a cab to the gallery. It’s a modern large building with high ceilings and too much steel for Harry’s liking. At 7PM, there’s the official presentation of the artists participating in the exhibition and then everyone’s free to see the artwork. Harry’s impatient and urges Zayn to show him his paintings._

_“Gee, okay. I’ll have to find them first, because I have no idea where they are,” they weave their way through the crowd, holding hands and champagne glasses. The place is enormous and incredibly crowed, so it’s not the easiest feat. They do find them after a few minutes, though. Turning a corner, the paintings come into their view and Harry feels like his breath’s been knocked out._

_They’re both of Harry. Two huge canvases, typical for Zayn’s style, both of them depicting Harry with acrylic paint. The one on the left is a portrait Zayn did in their sophomore year of college. He’s smiling in it and looking into distance, his hair much shorter than it is now. The colours are hues of purples and pinks along with realistically fitted shades – nudes, browns and greens. It’s one of his favourite paintings that Zayn did. Not because he’s in it, but because of the story it goes along with._

_The other one is a study of Harry’s hands Zayn did once for his class. Both of Harry’s hands painted nine times in various positions, black outlines with light shading alternating with realistic acrylic ones. It looks kind of unsettling, when Harry sees it now and there are not two rings on his left ring finger – his engagement and wedding rings._

_Harry realizes he’s been standing there, staring at the paintings as if he was a statue. A wide smile replaces the frozen gasp on his mouth and he turns around, pulling Zayn into a kiss. No matter how many people are staring at them, Harry needed to do this. Kiss his husband, the love of his life who gave two paintings of him to a very important exhibition. They pull apart after a bit, not letting the kiss get too heated in here. There will be plenty of time for that in their hotel room._

_“I love you so much. Thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me,” Harry whispers into Zayn’s lips. Despite not kissing, they’re not letting go off each other – Harry clinging to Zayn’s shoulders and Zayn holding his hips softly._

_“You don’t have to thank me. You’re the most important person in my life and I love you, so why would I choose any other portraits? There’s no one in the entire world I’d rather see hanging on that wall right now,” Harry chuckles wetly, completely choked up with all the emotions. If he starts crying now, he won’t even care. Everyone can stare at him and see what an amazing husband he has and how in love they are._

_Harry leaves the paintings very reluctantly, but it would be rude to just stay there and stare at paintings of himself his husband painted. It’d be romantic maybe, but to other people it would be just narcissistic. They walk around the gallery and Harry admits that the whole exhibition is spectacular. The whole night, they don’t let go of each other. If they’re not holding hands, there’s an arm around a waist or a chin on a shoulder. Some people who recognize Harry from the painting or know Zayn as an artist stop them and gush about how lovely and romantic it is – choosing to present paintings of your spouse. Harry revels in it and enjoys every single word of praise._

_Later that night, back in their hotel suite they make love. Not sex or fucking. It’s the gentlest they’re ever been with each other. Soft touches and softer kisses interrupted by sweet words and so many_ I love you’s _that they couldn’t possibly count them. There’s no dirty talk or biting. It’s loving, every single bit of it. Harry tries to put all his love into the kissing, tries to show the love with just his body. Harry rides Zayn painstakingly slowly, his hips always in a lazy tempo. They both come with ‘I love you’ falling from their lips._

_Everything goes to shit two days later._

_They’re in Vatican, walking around St. Peter’s Square as sun slowly starts to set when Zayn’s phone rings. Harry doesn’t pay it any mind until he sees the caller ID saying it’s the gallery._

_“I have to take this, baby,” Zayn says when he notices Harry’s murderous expression, “I told everyone to only call me if there’s an emergency and only from this number, so I know to pick it up. I’m sorry, it’ll be just a second,” he lets go off Harry’s hand and walks a few meters away, probably sensing that if he stayed, Harry would pluck the phone out of his hand and smash in on the ground with his boot._

_A second turns out to be a twenty-minute phone call. Harry eventually gets tired of staring at the buildings around him and drags Zayn after him in the vague direction of their hotel. When Zayn finally ends the call, he tells Harry that some client got delivered a damaged painting and now they have to find out if it’s the transport company’s fault or if the person wrapping it up was the one to damage it. Harry barks out that he doesn’t care about it until the end of the week._

_Harry admits that the situation is pretty bad so he gets over his grudge about half an hour later and they go to dinner. The grudge is back in a millisecond when Zayn’s phone rings again and he leaves Harry at the table to take the call outside. When he’s not coming back for fifteen minutes, Harry pays the bill and leaves the restaurant. He passes Zayn outside, still on the phone with Ally._

_“You need new employees because these you have are clearly incompetent,” he says before walking away from Zayn quickly, trying to get a head start so Zayn won’t catch up to him._

_Harry doesn’t go back to the hotel and instead he walks around the small alleys and mopes. It’s unreasonable to be upset and he knows it. But this is the first time in ages they were just simply together, no work, no anything. Ally shouldn’t stick her nose into the situation with the client and instead let Clara, the actual manager with experience, handle it, but no, she just_ has _to annoy Zayn on his vacation._

_Eventually, Harry comes back to the hotel an hour later. Zayn is sitting in an armchair, typing out something on his laptop. He doesn’t say anything to Harry, just watches him from behind the screen as Harry starts to undress. The silence is awful and Harry groans._

_“I’m sorry, okay? I know it’s not your fault. But if Ally fucking calls you one more time, I’m throwing your phone out of the window. Just so you know,” Harry knows it’s wrong to be mad at Zayn when he’s not actually mad at him, he’s mad at the people who should’ve handled the situation and left Zayn alone for a few more days. Zayn laughs, closes his laptop and puts it away._

_“Come here, babe,” Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s in Zayn’s lap as quick as light._

_“You were kinda right, they should’ve handled it without me. I’m gonna tell Ally to let Clara take care of all of these kinds of things and only care about new art, okay?” Harry nods and kisses Zayn gently._

_The rest of their trip thankfully ends up being phone-call-less. It doesn’t change anything though because once they come home, it’s the same fucking circle again. The gallery, magazine and no time for each other. They’re like two ghosts haunting their own house._

_But it’s only the beginning of the end._

“Harry, please don’t cry. It’s no use, babe,” Zayn says quietly, his voice pained. Harry ignores him as he starts to sob harder.

            “Why did this happen? How? Just how is it possible that we’re getting a divorce?”

            “We don’t know how to talk to each other anymore,” Harry scoffs at Zayn’s answer.

            “Talk. Talk, yeah? How fucking hard it is to talk?” he’s angry right now, staring at Zayn, trying to start a fight. The silence will suffocate him, so he’d rather yell and scream again.

            “I don’t know. Apparently impossible since we couldn’t talk through our problems,” Zayn says calmly. He still knows Harry, still can predict exactly what Harry’s trying to do.

            “Yeah, well you could’ve at least listened to me when I told you to stop running around the world and stay here, start a family with me. But I guess you didn’t want that, did you?” Harry knows his words are cruel and he sees Zayn tense up. That was their ‘big fight’, the one that paved the path for their divorce.

            _September, almost exactly a year ago. The day was grim, raining all morning and afternoon. There wasn’t a storm thankfully, but one may be coming during the night._

 _Harry is sitting in their living room, his laptop abandoned on the coffee table, a cup of green tea in his hands. It’s a little after 7PM and he’s been waiting for Zayn for almost an hour. He should’ve been home by six. He jumps a bit when the front door is shut closed._ Finally.

            “ _Sorry I’m late babe, tomorrow’s the opening and everything’s crazy. We couldn’t find a painting and we were losing our shit. Turned out it was already hanging on the second floor,” Zayn calls out from the hallway. He comes into the living room a minute later, hair slightly damn from the rain. Harry wants to wrap him up in a blanket, but maybe later. He can’t get distracted now._

_“We need to talk,” Harry says from the couch, setting his tea down on the coffee table. Zayn gives him a puzzled look, his eyebrows drawn in confusion, but he sits down on the couch opposite the one Harry’s sitting on anyways._

_“Did something happen?” he asks when Harry’s not saying anything for a while._

_“No,” Harry shakes his head, “don’t worry. I just feel like we need to talk about us. There are things I’ve been meaning to tell you for quite some time now,” Zayn draws a sharp breath, avoiding Harry’s gaze._

_“Can I take this?” Zayn points at Harry’s tea on the table. Harry just nods and Zayn picks it up, taking a sip from the cup right away._

_“So, talk. Whatever’s on your heart, I’m gonna listen, babe,” Zayn says after a moment. Harry nods again and prepares himself for the conversation. It’s not something they have ever seriously discussed._

_“I want you to stop going art scouting so much,” Harry says, his voice startling in the quiet room. Zayn’s silent. He takes another sip of tea before setting the cup down._

_“Why?” he asks, “is it because I started taking Ally with me? It’s her job after all.”_

_“No, that’s not it,” Harry replies, fiddling with his rings._

_“Then why?” Zayn inquiries further. Harry sighs, turning the words over and over in his head._

_“I want a baby. I want to start a family. You know I want to have children before we turn thirty. And we’re gonna be twenty-eight in like half a year. I think it’s time,” Harry tries to look at Zayn, possibly try to guess what he’s thinking but he’s looking at the floor, completely avoiding Harry’s gaze._

_“I don’t think I’m ready for kids, Harry,” the words are like a gunshot. Harry draws a sharp breath, unsure what to do or say next. Of course, Harry knew it was possible that Zayn was going to say this, he just didn’t expect it at all._

_“We’re still young, babe. There’s plenty of time to have children. I feel like we should just enjoy ourselves while we can,” Zayn continues when Harry’s completely mum for a while. That gets Harry to shot Zayn a cruel look._

_“We’ve been together for almost nine years, I think that’s more than enough time to enjoy ourselves,” Harry barks out. Zayn’s body tenses over the sound of Harry’s voice._

_“Fine, if you think so. I’m just telling you that I don’t think I want a baby at the moment,” Zayn responds, hesitating to look straight at Harry._

_“Oh, okay. You want to fly around the world with Ally, not have a baby with me, your husband. That’s great. Good to know!” Harry’s raising his voice now._

_“Harry, calm down. I want to have a family with you eventually, just not right now. We’re too busy to have a kid anyways.”_

_“_ I’m _not too busy,_ you _are too busy! Not only for a child, but apparently for this relationship as well!” Harry feels on fire. He hasn’t been this angry in ages. Zayn just scoffs and shakes his head._

_“How can you say shit like this, Harry?” Zayn asks, his tone accusatory._

_“You’re asking how? Well, I don’t know. Maybe because you replaced me with your fucking gallery! And since you can’t fuck a building, Ally came with it like a gift with a big fucking bow on top!”_

_“What the fuck are you talking about? I only told you that I don’t want to have kids right now and you start to question our entire relationship and accuse me of cheating?”_

_“I’m talking about how you don’t give a single fuck about me anymore!” Harry yells, standing up from the couch. He starts to pace around the room, hands in his hair._

_“We didn’t even celebrate our wedding anniversary last month. Five years, Zayn! Half a fucking decade since we got married and all I got was a fucking text because you were in Europe fucking Ally. Did you enjoy it? Maybe it was even her that reminded you what day it was, since she acts like she’s your fucking personal assistant!” Zayn stands up from the couch and starts to leave the room._

_“Where the fuck are you going?” Harry yells after Zayn. He turns around, traces of anger on his face, but nowhere near what’s thrumming through Harry right now._

_“I’m not going to listen to you scream complete and utter bullshit at me. I’m leaving,” he says calmly and turns his back to Harry._

_“Oh, no no no no no._ I’m _leaving!” Harry takes long strides and walks right past Zayn in the hallway. He puts on a pair of his boots by the door, grabs a coat and his wallet. Unlocking the door, he walks out and looks at Zayn. He’s standing the hallway, staring at Harry, not trying to run after him or make him stay._

_“Don’t fucking wait for me,” he spits out before closing the front door, leaving Zayn alone in their house._

_Harry starts to walk down the street while he gets an Uber. He needs to get out for the night, as far away from their house as he can._

_It’s the first time since college that he gets so drunk he can’t remember what happened last night. It’s the first time since he and Zayn moved in together that they don’t sleep in the same bed. Harry wakes up in their bed alone, a water bottle and Aspirin on the bedside table but Zayn in the guest bedroom instead of next to him._

“Harry, this is so fucking stupid,” Zayn sighs, “why are we doing this?” Harry sniffles and wipes his eyes with his sweatshirt sleeve.

            “I guess we just feel out of love,” Harry says quietly after a moment.

            “That’s not true and you know it,” there’s a fierceness in Zayn’s voice that wasn’t there before. Harry looks at him and finds Zayn staring at him, his gaze unwavering. He wants to say something, anything, but all the words have abandoned him now.

            “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me,” Harry feels like his entire body just shuts down the moment Zayn says those words. _Where is he going with this?_ Harry can’t do it. He can’t lie straight into Zayn’s face about this. He can’t tell the man he loves more than anything “ _I don’t love you”_ and look him in the eye while doing so.

            “You can’t. I know you can’t do it because I can’t either,” Zayn says with a straight, honest face and Harry’s breath catches in his throat.

            “It wouldn’t be the truth, Harry. I still love you. And maybe we’re just not in love with each other anymore,” Harry’s sob interrupts whatever Zayn was about to say next. His heart shatters. Every bit of hope he had for them is gone in an instant. There are tears on his cheeks again, but he doesn’t care. He’s so numb and _empty,_ it doesn’t feel right at all. _Why is this happening?_

            “Haz, please don’t cry. It breaks my heart to see you like this. Haz, look at me,” Zayn’s suddenly in front of him, a warm hand holding Harry’s left cheek. It physically hurts him to look into Zayn’s eyes, but Harry does it despite wanting to run away and never face the pain of seeing Zayn again. But now, just for now, he gets lost in Zayn’s eyes and touch.

            “I don’t want a divorce,” Harry lets out a surprised laugh. He’s wanted to hear these words for _weeks_ and now that Zayn’s said, Harry can’t help but question them. _Why? Why? Why?_

            “What made you change your mind? You were the one to propose it,” Harry’s voice is shaking when he says it.

            “I know, but I never wanted it in the first place. I just thought that was what you wanted. That it was the only solution,” Zayn’s voice is small, barely above whisper. _All this time_ Harry thought Zayn wanted this, that he wanted to leave him for good.

            _It was July and Harry felt his marriage falling apart._

_He’s standing in front of the mirror in their walk-in closet, looking at himself in the new black fitted suit. To a stranger, he may look great, with his thighs hugged by the pants and his hair falling over his shoulders in soft curls. But Harry thinks he looks like a corpse. Dark circles under his eyes, caused by never getting enough sleep lately and trading vegetables in his diet for alcohol. He’s thin, thinner than in high school, because he tends to replace most of his meals with coffee lately. His husband thinks Harry’s cheating on him, but Harry knows his husband is cheating for a fact._

_Zayn walks out of the en-suite bathroom, suit and shoes already on. If Harry didn’t feel dead inside, he’d be sad about it. Normally, back when they weren’t fighting or living in complete silence, Zayn would come out of the bathroom shirtless with a smile on his lips. He’d walk to Harry, stand behind him and wrap his arms around his middle – under Harry’s shirt of course. Now he simply walks past Harry without even a single look._

_They’re that couple now – the mechanical one. Work, fighting and silence – that’s the endless circle of their marriage. They sleep in the same bed most nights, but never holding each other. Harry gets drunk too often and Zayn leaves their bedroom and doesn’t talk to Harry for days at a time, well if he’s home. Zayn runs away from Harry. He spends more time in airplanes than in their house. Flying out to Europe or the West Coast with Ally is what he does most days now. He also cheats. Harry’s tried to get a confirmation out of Zayn, but he won’t budge. Harry isn’t stupid. He sees all the signs clearly – leaving their home most days, not having sex anymore and barely talking to his spouse. How can Zayn even try to deny it when he sees his art scout more than his fucking husband?_

_Harry watches Zayn grab his phone from the bedside table and type out a text, presumably to Ally. He turns away, looking in the mirror again._ How did we get here?

            _“Are you ready? The car is here,” Zayn asks from the bedroom. Harry tries to smile at his reflection and prepare the fake smile he’ll have on his face the whole night, but fails miserably._

_“Yeah. Let’s go,” they walk out of their house wordlessly, lock the front door and get in the black Mercedes waiting for them._

_The ride is silent, both of them distracting themselves with their phones so they don’t have to talk to each other. When the car finally stops in front of the gallery, they smack big smiles on their faces. As they’re entering the building, Zayn wraps his arm around Harry’s waist. It sends a shiver down Harry’s spine. After not touching for days it’s a shock for him._

_They’re the image of the perfect couple – big smiles on their faces, holding each other as they greet guest who came to see the exhibition opening. It’s a big deal, showing the artwork of a popular Japanese artist, his art in New York for the first time. There are people from all around the US along with dozens of their friends and acquaintances, they can’t show what their marriage really looks like right now._

_The artist is introduced and gains a tremendous applause. Harry gets progressively tipsier and tipsier on champagne. He and Zayn act their roles perfectly. They’re constantly smiling, making small talk with people, all while holding hands and doing cheesy shit they would normally never do. Kisses on cheeks, praise and dumb smiles. Lies, lies and lies._

_In some moments, Harry forgets that none of this is real. That they are the happy couple they pretend to be. That everything is okay and they’ll go home, kissing in the backseat of the car the whole ride and then have amazing sex in their bedroom. He forgets their fights, Zayn’s cheating that he just won’t fucking admit and the fact that they haven’t had sex in three months. He basks in it, even though it’s nothing more than a show for strangers._

_Their cute little act falls apart when they start to talk to an acquaintance of theirs. It’s not Katherine’s fault. She’s only got a big mouth and Harry has even a bigger one, especially when he’s tipsy._

_“Oh, look at you two! I haven’t seen you boys in forever!” Katherine comes running to them, a martini in her hand. She kisses their cheeks and gushes about how good they both look._

_“Well, how y’all doin’? Still runnin’ around the world chasin’ art, boys?” she chirps._

_She doesn’t mean it badly, but it lights up the fire of anger in Harry._

_“Unfortunately, yes, Kat. It’s gotten rather boring over the years” Harry smiles through his teeth, jaw tense. Zayn shots him a murderous look and tightens his grip around Harry’s waist. Harry pretends not to notice._

_“Well, maybe it’s time to stop” she laughs, a manicured hand with long red acrylics swatting at her hair, “aren’t y’all together for like ten years or somethin’? Perhaps y’all should have a baby now. It’s time. See, when I was your age, I already had my Jasper and Ella runnin’ around. Don’t be that couple with babies at forty. Y’all die before the kids even graduate college!”_

_“Oh, I would love to settle down and have kids,” Harry exclaims, his tone maybe too biting, “it’s just my lovely husband here that already has a kid. This gallery. So, he doesn’t really have time for any other,” Harry pats Zayn’s chest and Katherine starts laughing, again._

_“You’re so funny, Harry!” she cackles, “anyway, Madison is wavin’ at me, I should go. Enjoy your night, boys!” Katherine leaves in a puff of perfume and martinis. Zayn lets go off Harry as if he was burned._

_“What the fuck, Harry? You needed to drag this shit out right now?” Zayn spits out, the fake happy mask off his face now._

_“I don’t know, did I?” Harry shrugs and grabs a glass of champagne from a hostess walking past them. Before he manages to take a sip, Zayn plucks the glass out of his hand and sets it back down on the tray._

_“Stop fucking drinking. Jesus. Come with me, we need to talk and definitely not right here,” Zayn grabs Harry’s hand and starts to drag him towards an empty room that’s being prepared for another exhibition._

_“But be careful, love. Ally may see and she’ll get jealous that you’re,” Harry gasps theatrically, “having sex with your husband,” Zayn ignores him and opens the sliding white door, quickly dragging Harry inside and shutting it close._

_“Harry, it can’t keep going on like this,” Zayn sighs, a hand ruining his perfectly styled hair. Harry just scoffs and sits down on a big circular, leather ottoman in the middle of the room._

_“No, it can’t,” Harry mumbles, staring at his hands. He’s starting to feel all the champagne now. Soon, he’ll be able to forget a small piece of his heartache and despair._

_“We need to fix this, us, somehow. All we do is fight, fight and fight again. Then we don’t talk and you always get fucking drunk off your ass. I never wanted for our marriage to look like this,” the anger is waking up in Harry. Accusing, that’s where they are now?_

_“Don’t act like I’m the only one fucking this up. You’re never fucking home. Never! I’m always alone sitting there while you’re having the time of your life with Ally thousands of miles away from me! It’s like I’m the side chick and she’s your wife. Except you don’t even fuck me anymore,” Harry’s raising his voice now, but he couldn’t care less if people hear him. He’s resorted to cruel words and cutting tone, trying to get any kind of emotion out of Zayn._

_“Maybe I’m never home because I’m tired of seeing you inebriated! The only time you talk to me is when you scream at me that I’m cheating on you, which, for the millionth time, I’m not, or you come home drunk at 4AM and scream again, this time about how I hate you because I don’t want kids. I don’t know what you want from me anymore, Harry,” Zayn sounds exhausted. Harry notices then the dark circles under his eyes, same as Harry’s. His shoulders are slumped, like he’s given up. This marriage is taking its toll on both of them._

_“Family,” Harry says, “family is all I’ve wanted for the past two years. And you don’t want to give it me. All of this fighting would go away if you stopped working so much and started a family with me, like you said you wanted to before we even got married. Why don’t you want it now? We’re older and hopefully wiser. We have a house in the fucking suburbs and we’re both financially secure with stable careers. How is this complicated? Why are we fighting about something we both wanted and prepared for?”_

_“That’s bullshit, Harry. You can’t bring a child into a house when his parents fight non-stop. A baby wouldn’t solve our problems, because the problems are rooted too deeply to be so easily swept under a rug. You’re drinking too much, I have to travel for my job a lot and we basically despise each other. Maybe we should just get a divorce so you can find someone you don’t hate and have a family. Because I’m clearly not the person you want,” Harry wants to scream, but not fight. He wants to scream that he loves him, he doesn’t despise him at all. He wants to yell at Zayn that they can fix this, if they just change things a little bit. He knows they can get through it together, side by side as they have for years._

_The need to try and save his relationship dissipates the second the door slides open and Ally appears in the gap. She looks at Harry nervously, probably scared he’s gonna yell at her that he knows she’s fucking his husband._

_“Zayn, sorry for interrupting, but we need you here,” she announces, avoiding Harry’s burning gaze._

_“Get the fuck out of here, Ally,” Harry snarls before Zayn can even turn around and look at her. He probably scared her enough, because she just nods and slides the door closed, leaving them alone again._

_“Yeah, let’s get divorced, this clearly isn’t working anymore. Go and be with Ally and pretend like you’re twenty-one again,” Harry stands up and walks to the door. He needs to get to some fresh air and far away from this place. His marriage just fell apart right in front of his eyes and Harry doesn’t know if he’ll ever be happy again._

_“I’m not going to be with Ally, but you’re going to one of your fuck buddies right now. Maybe you should marry one of them right after I sign the divorce papers!” Zayn yells after him. Harry ignores the vigorous pain in his heart and walks away from his husband, soon to be ex-husband._

_He leaves the gallery and goes to his friend Bonnie’s apartment. He drinks almost a full bottle of Jack Daniels and cries into her chest till 3AM._

_Harry stays there for three days, surviving on coffee and smoothies Bonnie forces him to drink. He cries more than he though was humanly possible and vows to never drink any hard alcohol again. All three days are spent on Bonnie’s couch in her ex-boyfriend’s pyjamas he forgot there. Self-pity and despair are on the program 24/7._

_He tortures himself and reminisces on the good times he and Zayn had before. Then he cries again and bitches to Bonnie how fucking awful the last months of their marriage were. Then Harry silently admits that they’re getting divorced._

_Harry comes home on Tuesday morning only to find their house empty and cold. He discovers a post-it note on the fridge saying “I’m in San Francisco. I’ll be back in two weeks”. Zayn didn’t even bother to sign it or leave a voice mail._

_Harry spends the rest of the day crying into Zayn’s pillow._

“Harry, please. We need to try again. The marriage counselling didn’t help at all, because we didn’t try hard enough. But I want to. I can’t lose you. I want a family with you, but we need to fix our relationship first. Just, please. Don’t give up on us. We can do it together, I know we can,” Harry hasn’t seen Zayn cry in ages, but now there are tears streaming down his face.

            “I don’t know if I can forgive you the cheating,” Harry shakes his head slowly. How is he supposed to believe that Zayn loves him, when he was fucking Ally for over a year?

            “I never cheated on you, babe. Never. I know you think I was sleeping with Ally on our business trips but I swear to God and every deity there is that I never even kissed her. You can check the bank records if you want and you’ll see we always got separate hotel rooms,” Zayn is clutching Harry’s hands, a desperation in his voice. Harry doesn’t know what to say, if he should say anything at all.

            “I have no reason to lie to you, Harry. The divorce papers are ready and we can sign them tomorrow and that’s it, we’re over. Simple as that. But I don’t want it. You think I’ve been sleeping with Ally since last summer, but it’s not true. I’ve told you so many times that I’m faithful to you, but you just didn’t believe it and I had no idea what to do, how to prove that I still love you. I could never consciously hurt you, babe.”

            “Then why did you go with her on those trips instead of with me?” Harry questions. He’s starting to panic. If all this time Zayn was faithful, most of their fighting was completely useless. Jealousy got the better of him and Harry started accusing Zayn of something he never did.

            “It’s her job, Harry. When I started to go with her, the trips were shorter and more efficient. We divided the work and what I would’ve done by myself in four days, the two of us did it in two, sometimes even one. It had nothing to do with me not loving you anymore or cheating. It was just work,” Harry starts to sob again. He’s so _stupid._ Ruining his marriage with pointless jealousy, good job, really. But it’s come back to the same thing again – work.

            “Harry, baby, it’s okay. We’re okay,” Zayn tries to wipe Harry’s tears with his thumbs, but more just come waterfalling right away.

            “Zayn, don’t you get it? It’s always _just_ work for you. None of this would’ve happened if you just let her do her job _alone_ and stayed here. I wanted you here, in New York, with me. That’s all I wanted. If you just stopped leaving me alone so much, we didn’t have to be getting divorced right now,” Zayn just stares at Harry, tears still infrequently falling from his eyes.

            “I know,” he whispers after a moment, his eyes staring down at their intertwined hands in Harry’s lap. 

            “I’ve been thinking about us non-stop since that fight two months ago. And I just- I knew it was all my fault. And I realized that I can’t lose you, that I have to at least try to win you back somehow. So, I rearranged a few things at the gallery. I got another art scout, so I wouldn’t have to travel out of country at all. I don’t want to lose you, Harry. And right now, I’ll do anything it takes for you to not leave me.”

            “What?” Harry breathes out, heart beating in his chest at an insane tempo.

            “I wanted to tell you sooner, but you weren’t picking up my calls and I had no idea where you were. Your mom wouldn’t tell me and I knew that this was my last chance. So, now I’m telling you that I want to fix this. All of it. I want us to fall in love again, gain our happiness back and then we can have the family you want. I love you, I never stopped. It’s unconditional by now. I want to spend the rest of our lives together, if you give me a chance,” Zayn’s voice is shaky, tears slowly falling from his eyes and Harry thinks he’s never loved him more than in that moment. It may sound wrong, but it’s true. Harry can’t help himself and frees his hands from Zayn’s so he can cradle his face. He brings Zayn’s face closer to his so their foreheads are touching.

            “I love you so much,” Harry whispers, “we’re going to get better. We will. I don’t want you to leave me.”

            “I won’t leave you. Ever,” Zayn shakes his head softly.

            “Good,” their lips are close, almost touching when they move. Harry tilts his head to the side, to get better access and finally kisses Zayn on the mouth after months. It’s hesitant, Harry afraid he’s forgotten how to do this, how to kiss the person he’s been with for almost ten years. Zayn brings his hands to Harry’s neck, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss. When their tongues finally graze each other, it sends them into a frenzy. The weeks and weeks without any physical intimacy between them finally show in the way they’re clutching at each other, licking into their mouths. It’s so heated and passionate Harry feels like his head is swimming.

            They finally part as their breath runs out and leaves them breathing heavily, hands laced together between them. Smiles sneak onto their faces and Harry feels a flicker of happiness in his chest. He finally feels calm, like getting ashore after a violent sea storm that lasted for ages and ages.

            “I love you, Haz,” Zayn whispers and gives Harry one more small peck on his lips. Harry starts giggling, leaving Zayn stare at him with a perplexed look and eyebrows drawn in confusion.

            “What is it? Did I do something?”

            “No, I just remembered how you told me you loved me for the first time,” Harry admits with a blush popping up on his cheeks.

            “Oh,” Zayn lets out a small laugh, the worry falling from his face, “I was such a cheesy shit, though. Like, waiting months to tell you that only because I wanted to do something special? Who has that kinda time?”

            “C’mon, it was romantic,” Harry cackles. Zayn shakes his head, smile on his lips and cheeks slightly red. Harry will never get over how _adorable_ Zayn looks when he blushes. They can be fifty and Harry will still feel the same about it.

            “It could’ve been more romantic if you didn’t barge in the studio at midnight.”

            “Oh, so I care about your well-being and try to _feed_ you, and I’m the bad guy in this story?”

            _It was October, about twenty minutes before midnight and Harry hasn’t seen Zayn since last morning. Naturally, he decided to surprise him at the studio._

_Harry stops by at Subway to get some food and water because knowing Zayn, there’s a chance he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. When he starts working on a project no one can make him take a break for longer than twenty minutes. Since Harry loves his boyfriend (not that he has told him yet), he gets him food and makes sure he doesn’t die because of the paint fumes._

_Finding the studio on campus isn’t hard. Harry thinks he may find it even with closed eyes he comes there so often. It isn’t the first time he quietly sneaked out of his dorm and walked to the Art building, searching for Zayn holed up in one of the studios._

_Harry doesn’t bother knocking when he finds the door, just quietly opens it and slips inside. His guess was right because he spots Zayn sitting behind a big canvas, facing the door. He lifts his head up from the painting and smiles at Harry._

_“Hi, babe. What are you doing here?” Zayn stands up from his stool and leaves his pallet and brush on a table. Wiping his hands with paper towels, he walks to Harry and pecks his lips._

_“I came to feed you before you turn into a painting yourself. Here,” he holds up the plastic Subway bag and Zayn takes it with a laugh._

_“What are you on working on?” Harry crosses the room, but before he can lean over the easel and take a peek, Zayn wraps himself around his back with a yelp._

_“You can’t see it yet,” Zayn says into Harry’s shoulder, his words muffled._

_“Oh, c’mon,” Harry scoffs and leans over the side of the painting away. Before he can see the picture, he loses his balance and they both stumble and fall on the ground._

_The fall leaves them on their sides, Zayn behind Harry as if they were spooning. Despite the pain in his elbow, Harry takes a proper look at the painting and nearly loses his breath._

_It’s a painting of him. A picture Bonnie took during summer printed out and leaned against one corner, the painting a striking copy of it. Purples and pinks on the face flawlessly blend into realistic colours and it’s the best thing Harry has ever seen. Of course, Zayn’s drawn him before but never like_ this. _He’s never done a huge painting of Harry with the loveliest colours and soft looking lines._

_“Holy shit, Zayn,” Harry breathes out, unable to take his eyes of the canvas. If there were any doubts about being completely, unconditionally in love with Zayn, now they’re all gone. His heart may as well be bursting right now with all the love he feels._

_“I wanted to give you this at our one-year anniversary,” Zayn says from behind Harry. Wincing a bit, Harry flips around so he can face Zayn. They’re on a not so clean floor and he couldn’t care less._

_“This is the best thing anyone’s ever given me. It even beats the Batman car I got for Christmas in third grade” they both laugh at that and Harry can’t help but feel the tension radiating off Zayn. Harry brings his hand to Zayn’s cheek and caresses his cheekbone._

_“Is everything alright?” Harry asks worryingly._

_“I’ve been meaning to tell you something for months and I don’t know how you’ll react,” Zayn’s voice is too quiet in the sparse studio. A wave of fear and anxiety passes through Harry. It can’t be that bad, right? Zayn wouldn’t paint this if he wanted to break up with Harry. Whatever it is, it can’t be something utterly terrible._

_“Tell me, babe,” Harry ushers him. Zayn takes a sharp breath._

_“I love you, Haz. I’m in love with you. Have been possibly since the night we met at that frat party. I really wanted to tell you sooner, but I was afraid you don’t feel the same. Still am, I guess,” Harry’s lips curl into a wide smile and he can’t help himself but kiss Zayn._

_“You scared me, asshole,” Harry playfully hits Zayn’s chest when they part. There are smiles on their faces and Harry already knows they’re skipping their classes tomorrow to stay literally glued to each other all day. It’s their anniversary after all. They can neglect their education for a day._

_“I love you too. You know, if you haven’t noticed,” Harry grins into Zayn’s lips._

_“Hm, happy anniversary, baby,” Zayn whispers, the sound deliciously buzzing against Harry’s mouth._

_“What? It’s not until tomorrow.”_

_“Nope. Look at the clock, darling,” Harry turns his head to look at the wall behind him. And really, it’s seventeen minutes after midnight._

_“Let’s get out of here and celebrate properly,” Zayn mutters into Harry’s neck and ends the sentence with a small bite. Harry doesn’t hesitate and he’s up on his legs in a second, pulling Zayn up from the floor._

_They take the subs from the table, shut the lights and leave the studio hand in hand. On the way to Zayn’s place they stop at every other street light, exchanging soft or heated kisses and sweet nothings. When he’s pressed against a lamp post, Zayn’s tongue in his mouth, Harry wishes, prays and asks all his lucky starts for dozens of more anniversaries like this._

            “We need to get to that again, you know?” Zayn says softly, his thumb running across Harry’s knuckles. Harry just nods, letting silence that isn’t deadly and strained envelop them for the first time in months.

            “What are we gonna do now? The house is already on the market,” Harry reminds them.

            “We should sell it. Start again in a different place. I never liked this house anyway.”

            “Me neither,” Harry chuckles nervously, “maybe we should move into the apartment I rented. It’s already covered for three months. Well, if you want to be together right away,” Harry’s voice is small, still unsure about them. Everything’s fragile still and Harry doesn’t want to risk ending up with the divorce papers on the table after all.

            “That’s a great idea, babe. We can leave right now if you want to. Wait, the wine. Fuck,” Harry’s heart jumps again. Excitement is coursing through his veins. It’s really happening. They’re still together, no divorce papers to be signed. And Zayn wants to leave with him. Leave their old house and start a brand-new chapter of their lives, there they can be better people and love each other more.

            “I barely had any,” Harry admits, “I’ve stopped drinking you know. After…the fight at the gallery I got extremely drunk at Bonnie’s and since then I haven’t touched any alcohol,” he feels a bit ashamed. The drinking was slowly but surely becoming a problem and Harry hates to admit it. But at the end of the day he had to, because he didn’t want to end up an alcoholic.

            “That’s really good, Harry. Really good,” Zayn gives him a small smile and stands up, lifting Harry up along with himself.

            Harry looks around the empty living room one last time. The space is empty, cleared out of all things that made this place their home. The curtains Harry got in Madrid taken from the windows and safely packed in a box. Their record player along with the records safely stored in Harry’s new temporary apartment. The wide shelf with hundreds of books gone, all the paperbacks divided between Harry and Zayn, catching dust in unsealed boxes. But the memories will stay. Celebrating Christmas in front of the fire, their tree flickering with fairy light, mulled wine in their hands and smiles on their lips. Marathoning Game of Thrones in front of the TV all night, huddled together under one blanket, popcorn abandoned on the coffee table. Playing strip-down Jenga and fucking on the couch. No matter how much they fought in this room, spit out nasty insults and accusations, the happy memories will still prevail the ugly ones.

            He turns around, a smile on his lips because he’s a nostalgic shit, ready to leave this place in the past.

            “Wait a sec,” Zayn says and lets go off Harry’s hand. He takes their wedding photo off the wall above the fireplace and joins Harry again, a smile on his lips, one hand clutching Harry’s and the other the photo frame. In that moment, Harry’s happier than he’s been in years.

            They arrive at the Harlem apartment Harry rented, not too far from the one they moved into at the beginning of their junior year of college. It seems fitting, starting again in a place so close to where they were in a similar situation eight years ago.

            When they finally get to bed hours later, it feels like their beginnings again. Like they’re twenty, their alarm clocks set for 7AM so they won’t be late for their morning classes. The vast, too big bedroom from their house in the suburbs is replaced by a tiny one, with a huge window and the view of a fire escape. After months and months, they make love again. It’s painstakingly slow, each kiss a question and a declaration. Every touch is a lesson, a text book on love they have to read as they’re trying to learn about their bodies again. All of it is familiar but also strange, the memories of their last time not fresh but wrapped in mist.

            Nothing could make them forget it all, though. Their lives were loveless only for months – it’s been almost ten years of making love, having sex and fucking. Each one is different for them. Making love is reserved for times like this – after resolving a fight, after not seeing each other for a week or when they just feel overwhelming love for each other. It’s also for the special occasions like their wedding night or anniversaries. It’s always tentative, soft and mellow. Sex is routine. It’s based on the elemental sexual attraction and love. They used to have sex all the time. On the couch in the living room after watching a movie, in their bed at night like any other boring couple, sometimes even in a shower. It’s usually quicker than making love or fucking, sometimes even mechanical, but in the best way possible. Then there’s fucking. They fuck every time when they try something new – spanking, bondage or toys. It was quite frequent during their earlier years together. Fucking also happens when one of them gets jealous or when they’re just so damn turned on by each other. It’s heated, hard and once they start, they can never get enough.

            So, they make love that night. After many sleepless or drunken nights they spent apart, lying in bed and wondering what the other is doing, who he’s fucking, they are finally together. _I-love-you’s_ fall from their lips more times than they could possibly count. It’s loving, every single bit of it. They fall asleep in each other’s arms and their minds don’t have to torment them with helpless wondering and questions, because they’re both right there and neither of them are sleeping in the guestroom or thousands of miles away. It feels like coming home.

            Harry wakes up feeling disoriented. Not because of the new bedroom, but because there’s a warm body draped over his back. When he sees the tattooed hand on his stomach he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and his body relaxes. _Of course, it’s Zayn, who else would it be?_ His mind finally catches up with reality and Harry almost starts crying again, this time with happiness. He holds Zayn’s hand in his over his heart and runs his thumb over the wedding band on Zayn’s finger about a hundred times. _It’s real. We’re still together. We’re not getting divorced._

            Just like the first time Harry woke up in Zayn’s arms almost ten years ago, he doesn’t leave the bed. He stays there, barely moving, smiling at nothing in particular, basking in it all. Long dreary months have passed since Harry came to his senses in the morning with his husband touching him. The lack of intimacy was slowly killing him, ransacking all the optimism and joy from his life. For over a year, Harry believed Zayn was searching for affection and sex somewhere else, breaking the vows they once swore to obey. Now he knows none of it was true. He doesn’t need to wonder anymore and worry when the breaking point comes, when will Zayn finally leave him. It won’t come. It’s no longer a threat, an anvil hanging over their heads, waiting for the rope to be cut and let falling down freely to shatter all the love, friendship and devotion they had built over the years.

            They didn’t let empty accusations, jealousy and careers ruin them. The end of their relationship was impending, but before it could arrive and the divorce papers were signed, they realized what was wrong. Now they’re going to fix it – fix the love that’s still strong and learn how to be in love again. They’re older, more experienced, they’re not the same people they were five years ago. It’s time for them to fall in love with the versions of themselves – twenty-eight and no longer restless, no longer aching to see the world.

            “Morning,” Zayn’s voice startles Harry a bit, drawing him back from his overthinking. He feels Zayn kiss his shoulder like he used to every morning at a time that seems a lifetime away now.

            “Good morning. D’you want breakfast?” Zayn mumbles something into Harry’s skin that vaguely sounds like a _no_.

            “Just wanna be with you,” the words are a tempting vibration against Harry’s neck, punctuated with a kiss. Harry flips to his other side so he can face Zayn, a cheesy grin on his lips.

            “Hi,” Harry pecks Zayn’s lips and pulls away with a giggle.

            “Hello, babe. What’s got you so giddy?” Zayn asks despite sporting a wide smile of his own. Harry just shrugs.

            “I’m happy. I’m just really fucking happy to be with you again,” Harry hasn’t felt this good in months. Zayn smiles at him and tucks a stray curl behind Harry’s ear.

            “Me too,” Zayn whispers and pulls Harry into a kiss.

            They don’t leave the bed until it’s already afternoon.

            For four days, they barely get out of the apartment. Hundreds of kisses, hours of sex, making love and fucking and even more hours of conversation. They don’t talk about the serious things yet – getting a new house, their jobs and babies. In mellow voices, they whisper sweet nothings and I-love-you’s, all while kissing and touching. They watch Netflix in bed and cook breakfast together in their underwear. They hang their wedding photo again and go shopping for new linens. They fall back into their love and don’t let themselves doubt it.

            The “honeymoon” ends one evening when they’re lying in bed, completely fucked out and Harry says “You know I never cheated on you as well, right?”.

            “I know,” Zayn sighs, “you would’ve admitted it if you were cheating. I just- you thought I was cheating and it hurt, you know? That you didn’t believe me at all. So, I wondered if you were the unfaithful one and you were trying to cover it up by blaming me for the same things you were doing. That’s why I yelled it out at you that night at the gallery. But the second I said it, I knew you weren’t cheating. The guilt would make you try to deny it or just admit it right away. You did neither,” Harry’s left speechless, but with his chest feeling a little lighter.

            Eventually, they start to learn from their mistakes. The accusations and unnecessary fighting is left behind and communication takes their place. Instead of screaming and yelling, leaving the room and getting drunk, they sit down and talk. Talking through that dreadful year full of nothing but fighting is exhausting, but it is essential for them to move on. So, they face their demons and start the healing process. They both apologize for the cruel words, running away and not trying to fix everything right away. It’s not done without tons of crying, but after that, they don’t part their ways and go to a different bed each – it ends with an embrace and a whispered _I’m sorry_.

            Zayn spends less time at the gallery, starts to paint almost every day like he used to and Harry finds joy in his job again. They find the time to have dinners with their friends from college and also to have date nights. Chilly September and October evenings are spent in their living room or bedroom with tea and Netflix or with their laptops, trying to find a house in the city, researching adoption and surrogacy. They’re husbands again, in love, happy, spending time together and enjoying it. Work is no longer the monster under their bed, tugging at their legs and trying to drive them apart.

            It’s not always easy, but they’re doing it all together, so does it really matter? When one of them is close to starting a fight, the other makes sure to keep his voice down and talk some sense into them. They remember to pull each other out of their bad habits – Harry drops by at the gallery to pick Zayn up and make sure he doesn’t stay there fretting over expositions until midnight, and Zayn always makes sure Harry’s single friends aren’t trying to make Harry do tequila shots and then coke in the bathroom on nights out. They’re each other’s anchors and it works. Their marriage isn’t a dysfunctional disarray anymore.

            In November, after almost two months of house hunting, they find the perfect place surprisingly in Harlem again. They were losing hope and almost resorted to trying to find a place in Brooklyn, when their agent called them and showed them an amazing four-bedroom townhouse, with original hardwood floors and a garden, that’s basically gigantic for Manhattan. Thankfully, their house in the suburbs got sold roughly three weeks after they left, allowing them to afford this place in Harlem.

            By Christmas, the temporary apartment is packed up, all of their belongings moved to their new house. They celebrate Christmas eve at their new dinning table, with a grey soft kitten running around the room.

            Later they’re in bed, naked, Harry half lying on top of Zayn, head pillowed on his chest, Waffles sleeping starfished on one of the pillows, the room illuminated only by Christmas lights and it’s pure bliss.

            “Are you happy?” Harry whispers into the silence. Zayn smiles and starts playing with Harry’s hair.

            “Of course, I am. Are you?” Harry just nods into his chest.

            “I love you,” he says, kisses Zayn above his heart, letting his lips linger on the skin for a moment and settles his head on Zayn’s chest again.

            “I love you too, baby,” Zayn pecks Harry’s hair and they’re immersed in comfortable silence once again. They fell asleep holding each other, no longer having to wonder where the other is because they’re both right there, together.

_3 years later…_

            It’s October, a few days before Halloween and Harry’s standing in front of the gallery, with baby Luna perched on his hip. It’s her first proper Halloween this years and she refuses to take off the cat ears of her curly little head. She’s especially quite the entertainment when she runs around the house with Waffles in her arms, the cat meowing for its life, but nope, Luna isn’t letting her go.

            Harry looks at the gallery sign, the words _Luce Gallery_ a familiar sight.

            “C’mon, my little strawberry, we’re going to see daddy at work,” Harry coos at her. Luna giggles, showing her tiny teeth and claps her little chubby hands.

            “See daddy!” she squeals.

            “That’s right, angel.”

            Luna is freshly two, which means she officially runs the household, much to Waffles’ dismay. She can run around the living room on her own, thank you very much, and pull the cat’s tail all she wants. Her dads are absolutely wrapped around her little finger and totally in love with her. She loves to talk, despite not knowing more than fifty words and she’s the cutest little angel in the world. She knows how to say please and thank you, smiles and waves at strangers from her dads’ arms and eats all of her vegetables, even the green ones.

            She’s a striking image of Harry with her big green eyes, a hint of a dimple on her right cheek and brown wavy hair. It may be also because the surrogate is a brunette with blue eyes, but it doesn’t really matter to him. Luna is perfect and they wouldn’t ever change her for any other baby. Now they just have to make some arrangements and within a year, Luna may have a little brother or sister. This time, half of the baby’s DNA will be Zayn’s. It’s quite a funny story, how they decided this. Of course, they couldn’t settle it, endless conversations consisting almost purely of “ _It’ll be your baby.” “No, it’ll be your baby.” “Oh, shut up, the baby will be ours. It doesn’t matter whose DNA will have the firstborn.”_ , lead them to a weird solution – paper, rock, scissors. It was as random as flipping a coin and it worked flawlessly.

            Harry opens the door and walks inside the gallery. He’s immediately greeted by Nancy from behind the reception desk. Well, Luna is.

            “Well, hello, Miss Luna. How are you today, sweetheart?” Nancy coos at her. Luna just smiles, completely used to people being in love with her.

            “Hello. Good!” Luna says and starts to wiggle in Harry’s arms, trying to make him put her on the floor. Harry just holds her tighter, putting his other arm around her middle.

            “Papa, down!” she screams.

            “Wait a minute, love. We’ll find daddy and then you can run around all you want, okay?” because Luna is the best and loves her papa very much, she just nods and starts to suck her thumb.

            “Nancy, do you know by any chance where Zayn is?” Harry asks her, jostling Luna on his hip.

            “Yes, he’s upstairs, preparing the auction.”

            “Thank you,” Harry smiles at her and starts to walk towards the stairs. When he’s upstairs, Zayn comes into his view right away, standing in the middle of the open spacious room, an iPad in his hand, discussing something with his newest intern. Luna starts to squeal when she sees him and Harry puts her on the ground. Zayn lifts his head up from the tablet and immediately smiles when he spots Luna running towards him. He hands the iPad to the intern and squats down with open arms, waiting for Luna to jump at him like she always does.

            Harry comes to them just as Zayn lifts her up, sits her on his hip and starts to smother her tiny little face in kisses while she swats at him and giggles. He just watches them for a moment, loving the sight of his husband holding their daughter, big smiles on their face. Harry loves them both so much he could never even attempt to put in in words.

            He hates thinking about that terrible, terrible year he and Zayn barely even talked. They were about to get _divorced_ and it always makes Harry feel sick to his stomach when he imagines that right now, they could’ve been doing completely different things with their lives. But for more than three years, they’ve been happier than ever. Their love has been unshakable since their reconciliation. Not once have they fought to the point where one of them left the room or started screaming complete nonsense, as it had been frequent before. They moved back into the city, got Waffles and not even a year after that, Luna was born. Zayn doesn’t leave New York for longer than three days, if he does he doesn’t forget the _good night/good morning_ texts and Harry doesn’t drink and then yell. They fall asleep in each other’s arms, have most breakfasts and dinners together and have the perfect daughter.

            “Hi, baby,” Zayn says and gives Harry a short kiss on the lips. Luna squeals, trying to get her daddy’s attention again, “you’re a bit early,” he blows a raspberry on Luna’s cheek, making her break out into giggles.

            “Yeah, I know, but we were getting bored without daddy, haven’t we, sweetheart?” Harry smiles at Luna as he fixes her cat ears headband.

            “Yes! Miss daddy!” Luna exclaims, tugging at Zayn’s jacket. They both laugh at how adorably their daughter shows them love.

            “Do you have a lot of work? I can take her downstairs and distract her while you finish this up?” Zayn just shakes his head, smiling down at Luna.

            “No, it’s fine. Everything’s almost done. Clara and the interns can handle the finishing touches. We can go right now, right princess?” Luna nods and claps her tiny hands.

            They’re going shopping for her Halloween outfit with her. She’s probably going to end up being a cat though, so she can match Waffles. Either way, maybe she’ll want one of those Frozen dresses or a tiny witch hat. Who knows? Luna never fails to surprise them.

            Luna is basically glued to Zayn, after not seeing her daddy since the morning, only few hours earlier. They leave the gallery with Luna still on Zayn’s hip, but Harry and Zayn holding hands despite that. After walking not even half a block, Luna demands to be put down, so they let her walk for a bit, each holding her hand on one side. She runs with her tiny legs and is being the most perfect angel as usual. She never throws tantrums because she’s smart and she knows her dads will give her anything she wants if she says _please_ enough times.

            A little over three years ago, Harry never even dreamed of this – of staying with Zayn and having kids with him. All the luck was on their sides because despite all the fighting, at the end of it, they both knew that divorce wasn’t how it was supposed to end. They still loved each other and wanted to stay together, to raise children and grow old together. In order to be able to start a family, their marriage had to be fixed. So, they got better. They fixed their relationship and fell in love with the older, wiser versions of themselves. They became husbands again.

            Now they’re also parents and their lives pretty much revolve around Luna. They wouldn’t have it any other way, but they never forget to have a little time to themselves – a date night once a month, sex after she finally falls asleep and cuddling while she takes a nap. It works perfectly and everything fits like a puzzle. They have Luna, they have each other and they have happiness, so much happiness they could drown in it.

            It took them some time to get to that point in their lives, in their relationship, but they’re here. The road wasn’t easy, not at all. They fought, screamed and yelled, they almost got divorced. But their love was still stronger than all of the absurd fighting, pointless jealousy and inability to talk things out. They got better, the divorce papers we never signed and now they have the life they’ve always wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> If you got to the end, thank you and congratulations. If you enjoyed this story, please leave kudos or any kind of feedback. If you have any questions, you can find me on Tumblr @imlivingonawire.  
> Thank you so much for reading <3


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